Blueberries and Warm Soda
by Frostings
Summary: Sam and Jo have a talk following her argument with Dean


When he heard the first opening notes of what promised to be a full-blown argument, Sam had already picked up his plate of pie, his fork and his soda, and crept stealthily out of the bar. He hadn't eaten for days, and he'll be damned if his pie ended up being thrown at Dean's head.

Dean didn't even want to be here: the nearest bed-and-breakfast and Jo-_fucking_-Harvelle (Dean's words, not his.) had to be working there. But they had been driving in circles, needed to talk to the locals, and Sam wanted to sleep in a real bed, so he didn't let Dean know, until the very last moment, that oh, by the way, Jo-_effing_-Harvelle worked here too. "She didn't want me to tell you. You didn't want to know." was all Sam said, as way of apology at Dean's glowering look.

Besides, he knew the argument was coming when Dean saw Jo handing out pastry to Sam, and not to him.

So, really, Sam had to go outside. No one denied Dean Winchester food **and**flaunt it in his face at the same time. So he decided he would sit on the Impala's trunk with his food, wait it out. He never really got why those two were always at it. Foreplay, flirting, whatever it was, he wished those two would get over it. He would never admit to it, but it made him slightly nervous, the way the two would go at it. He liked Jo, he thought she was kind of sweet, especially when Dean wasn't around to rile her up.  
_  
You think you can just waltz in here, take my case? Go look for trouble somewhere else, Dean. I've got it covered._The sound of beer bottles being cleared away. Angrily.  
_  
Oh, I'm sorry. We must have missed the ad you took out in the newspaper._ Dean's heavy footsteps, following her around. Fighting over territory. For some reason, this made Sam strangely proud of the fledgling hunter. He could hear them yelling some more, and then there was the sound of a door slamming, Jo's boots scuffling over the gravel. He looked up to see Jo Harvelle walking towards him, every line of her body radiating anger, her hair flicking like a flame in the moonlight.

He waited to see if Dean would follow from the bar: He didn't. "Hey." Sam finally said.

Jo looked up, her anger softening a little seeing Sam, long legs awkwardly resting on the Impala's bumper, plate on his lap, the boy who snuck out so he wouldn't have to hear his parents arguing. "Hey, Sam." she glanced back at the bar. "You heard that?"

Sam shrugged.

"Sorry. It's just..." she kicked her foot against one of the Impala's wheels, stamped it back on the gravel. "It's just..."

"Dean." Sam supplied.

"Dean. He makes me so..." another kick. "Angry."

"Didn't want your help, did he." he bit another piece of pie. It wasn't really a question. Jo shook her head, then looked back at Sam.

"Wanna sit?" he offered, gesturing at the space beside him. Jo nodded, clambered on next to him, and the Impala barely registered her weight. He noticed how much thinner she was now, the slight dark circles under her eyes. "Pie?" he offered, raising his plate slightly. She picked a bit of crust from his fork, chewed on it absently.

"I'm not stupid." she suddenly burst out. "I've been trained. I know Dean thinks I'm an idiot and ghostbait or whatever, but I'm not."

Sam blinked. "Ghostbait?"

She glanced back, saw the bemused look in his eyes. She cracked a begrudging smile. "Yeah, ghostbait. It's a newly-born word, kid, take care of it."

They both dissolved in laughter, which eased the air momentarily but Jo turned serious again and looked across the empty parking lot, still no sign of Dean.

Sam rested the plate on his lap, chewed thoughtfully as he followed Jo's gaze. "You don't have anything to prove anything to us, you know that, right, Jo?" he said softly.

Her head snapped back to look at Sam. "Prove something to you?" she snorted. "Did I hear that right?"

Sam leveled her a steady stare. "Honestly, Jo, the last time we went hunting for you was ages ago. You've probably improved by now, and I'm sure you have. But we-Dean wouldn't know that now, would he? The last time..." he remembered his older brother's panicked voice, breaking down walls searching for Jo: "...the last time, you got caught. You were careless."

He saw that his words had an effect. Jo's mouth fell open, tried to speak, closed it again, and instead settled for looking down at her dangling feet. She remembered, too, how Dean was. A single cricket chirped loudly, and Sam suddenly realized that Jo Harvelle, the girl who always had a retort ready in her back pocket, had been rendered speechless.

When she finally spoke, her voice sounded strangely thick, and she didn't lift her gaze. "My dad..." she began. "He taught me to fight, but he didn't want me to hunt." She lifted her gaze and looked straight ahead, where the long grey road disappeared into the night. "And I always thought that was weird, you know? I mean, what was it all for if I couldn't hunt?" She took a deep breath.

"Yeah." Sam nodded, thinking of his own father, the strange contradictions they all were. "I know."

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes as a breeze brushed over them. "I guess he just didn't want me to get hurt."

The two sat in companionable silence, sharing the now-warm can of soda sitting between them. Then they heard it: A squeak of vinyl-Dean was fiddling with the jukebox.

"It plays at random." Jo said, sitting up straight, glancing at Sam.

Then-the opening bars of REO Speedwagon's _Can't Fight This Feeling_ began to tinkle from the interior, to be drowned out momentarily with Dean's disbelieving shout of "You've **GOT**to be kidding me!"

Jo and Sam grinned at each other. "It's his favorite band!" Sam exclaimed as Jo dissolved into giggles. He was punctuated by the sound of Dean slamming the door behind him, mirroring the exact movements Jo had just half an hour earlier, face set into an annoyed frown. He stopped short when he saw Sam and Jo sitting on the Impala, grinning mischievously at him. He looked at Sam, and then at Jo, not quite sure what was going on.

Sam gave Jo a little nudge. Jo rolled her eyes, sighed, picked up Sam's plate, held it out to the older Winchester. He saw Dean stop in his tracks, something in Jo's smile.

There was just the barest hint of softness in her voice: "Hope you like blueberry."


End file.
